


Legends of Thedas

by Alowyn Lavellan (OneHundredSuns)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Cullen Has Issues, Dalish Elves, Dalish Origin, Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, Drama, Drama & Romance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Grey Wardens, Human Noble Origin, Hurt/Comfort, Love, Mabari, Mages and Templars, Magic, Purple Hawke, Romance, The Blight (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-06 12:48:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17345522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneHundredSuns/pseuds/Alowyn%20Lavellan
Summary: A collection of my Dragon Age Trilogy fics in no particular order starring my OCs and their love interests; Cullen, Alistair and Fenris.





	1. Alistair/Warden Cousland - Silly Man

**Author's Note:**

> Most of these will be within the same (head)canon play throughs featuring Isabeau Cousland/Alistair, Lucian Hawke/Fenris, and Alowyn Lavellan/Cullen unless otherwise noted. Can be read in any order and anything best read together will be noted as well. Enjoy!

[Alistair/Isabeau: Silly Man]

“It doesn’t seem to be that deep but we should clean it and bind it.”

It was Alistair’s fault; that gash across Isabeau’s back shoulder. She didn’t blame him of course and had said as much afterwards but that didn’t stop him from blaming himself. He was her sword or more importantly her _shield_ which meant nothing was supposed to get around him and to her. Yet somehow that damn walking skeleton had managed to slip through the gap and he hadn’t even realized it until she was crying out in pain. Alistair remembered watching in horror as she tipped forward and hit the ground on her knees, armor stained with bright red blood. That thing stood over her with its sword raised, growling and snarling and preparing to strike again. Thankfully one of Redcliffe’s knights was there to pick up the slack or they’d be a Warden short.

The best Warden, left with only him to lead them. Even thinking it made him a little sick to his stomach.

Being an archer wasn’t very practical or ideal when it came to fighting but Isabeau had no real interest in swords or daggers. She was damn lethal with poisons though and he had to admit it was a sight to see an ogre fall by a single shot from her bow alone. Usually the others filled the holes—Leliana stabbing, Morrigan with her spells and Sten delivering heavy blows with his sword—but there’d been _so_ many corpses. They’d poured down from the hills in a cloud of green mist like a flood and fought with a ferociousness that rivaled any darkspawn. Anyone else would have needed to be patched up but Isabeau refused to leave the battle until every single undead thing was slain. She had not wanted any man to die while they were taking the time to bandage her wound.

She’d stuffed linens inside her armor to help staunch the bleeding and fought on. Fought through a castle of shambling dead, fought a bewitched Teagan and Connor’s minions _and_ fought verbally with Isolde’s insane plan to sacrifice herself in order to save her son. Okay not insane but definitely a last resort sort of thing.

After it was decided they would go to the Circle of Magi for help—since the treaties said their aid could be sought—they’d left Redcliffe hoping it would still be standing when they returned and made camp before nightfall. The excitement done for a while, Isabeau finally allowed herself to be tended to and Alistair’s mistake rushed back to the forefront.

What a stupid, stupid man he was for not covering her better. Was this why Duncan hadn’t wanted him in the battle at Ostagar? Because he knew deep down that he’d only end up getting someone killed. Perhaps even his own half brother? Alistair had always thought he was a fine warrior, maybe not the best but better than some farm hand just picking up a sword for the first time. Now? Well now he wasn’t too sure of anything and that felt like a perilous way to be.

Scuffing at a patch of grass, he dug his booted heel into the ground and stopped walking once his fellow Warden came into view. The air rushed out of his lungs with a quiet whoosh and he just stared, taking in the vision before him.

Isabeau sat at the water’s edge of the glistening pond, bathed in moonlight with her thin chemise held up to her naked chest. Leliana had disappeared around a rocky corner to presumably get something out of her pack, leaving their friend to sit and hum to herself. Alistair had to admit she looked utterly breathtaking. She wore her hair down so scarcely due to all of the fighting they had to do, that when she _did_ unwind it from its heavy bun he couldn’t help but pay attention. The long black ends would curl against her elbows or rest thickly across her shoulders. Not for the first time he wondered if it was as silky as it looked.

They hadn’t been traveling together long but his affection for her was constantly growing. Had skipped up several beats after their talk about him being Maric’s bastard had gone so well. And then there’d been her anger at Isolde for her continued animosity towards him. _And_ the gifts though to be fair she gave them to everyone, even Sten. But it was her willingness to listen that stood out the most. People often tuned Alistair out because he did tend to ramble but Isabeau was different. She even laughed at his dumb jokes.

When he’d told her about Duncan possibly not having any family to mourn him, she’d put a tender hand on his shoulder and said “he had you” with the gentlest look in her eyes. So sweet and so understanding, drowning in her own insecurities and grief yet still wanting to make _him_ feel better. She was quite rare.

However that just made the situation _worse_. This wonderful, beautiful person that actually cared about his feelings and opinions had gotten hurt because of him. Maker what if she’d _died_? Surely they’d all be doomed and the Blight would consume the world. And he’d never get a chance to repay all of the kindness she’d given him.

“Here.” The injury kit hit him in the chest and he barely realized he was supposed to catch it. “You wish to be doing this, no?”

Alistair blinked at Leliana. “What? No, why would you think that?”

She folded her arms across her chest. “Because I have eyes…but if you don’t want to help our friend I’ll do it. Gladly. Perhaps this does require a woman’s touch.”

He frowned. She was baiting him obviously _but_ he had noticed the way she looked at their fearless leader. If starry eyes were a thing she clearly had them. “Actually it should be me. It’s my fault she got hurt in the first place and I need to severely apologize.” Pulling his shoulders back, he stalked away from their tents and bedrolls pretending he didn’t hear Leliana snickering behind him.

“Hey.”

Isabeau looked up as he drew near. “Hey. I feel like we haven’t spoken since before Redcliffe. Are you alright?”

“Yes well…” He shrugged and sat down on the rock behind her. “Leliana had—she asked me to help you but if it makes you uncomfortable we can wait for her to finish whatever she’s doing.”

“No need. I trust you,” she said serenely. “It’s not as bad as previously thought anyway. Blood always makes things look worse.”

“It looks pretty bad to me,” he replied as he eyed the wound. It was deep but it did look better now that it was clean. “Had it been in the front it probably would have killed you.”

“We had worse at the Tower of Ishal.” She turned a little to face him. “And we survived. Flemeth helped but we’re both a lot sturdier than we look.”

Alistair sighed. “I am _so_ sorry. This is all my fault. There were just so many of them coming from every direction and I—”

Isabeau placed her warm hand over his. “Alistair this isn’t your fault anymore than it’s Connor’s. We’re at war and there are going to be injuries. People and things are trying to kill us; comes with the trying to save the world territory. I don’t blame you.”

Wetting his lips, he curved his hand palm up so that he could grasp her slender fingers. “It won’t happen again, I promise. From now on I’m going to be glued to your side. They’ll have to strike me down to get to you.”

She smiled. “Unless I leave you at camp to get some much needed rest.”

That made him snort. “I’ll sneak behind you from the shadows.”

“With that heavy armor? Not likely. I’ll hear you clanking near a mile away.”

Alistair laughed and nudged her back around. “Excuse me miss but I don’t _clank_. I can be silent as a mouse if the situation calls for it.” Opening the kit, he put the various healing items inside on the ground. “This might sting.”

Isabeau nodded. “It’s okay. Alistair?” She paused a moment, watching a lightning bug skip its way across the surface of the pond. “Can I ask something of you?”

She could ask anything of him. He said as much. “You can ask anything of me.”

Humming, she nibbled on her bottom lip. “Well you know that my family was recently murdered by a traitor and that my brother is probably dead as well. It’s just—they all used to call me Beau except for my father. I’ve sort of hated it to be honest but now that it’s always Warden this or Warden that, I’ve come to miss it. Would you mind calling me Beau? I’d ask Morrigan but she’d just accuse me of being too sentimental and I don’t exactly know Leliana enough yet to get so personal.”

Touched, he dragged his callous fingertips down the center of her back and admired her lovely skin. She visibly shivered and he swallowed hard, feeling a flush rise up his neck. Suddenly he remembered her nakedness; he could see the side of her breast nestled against her blouse and although he tried not to stare, his eyes drifted down more than once. Unable to put it out of his mind—as if he could really forget—it caused certain parts of him to take more notice. Andraste’s knickers was he thankful for his _clanky armor_ ; the last thing he needed was for her to see how easily she could affect him.

“My pleasure.” He cleared his throat. “Beau. Beau who uses a bow to kick ass.”

Laughing, she shook her head. “I’m starting to think this was a bad idea. Ow!”

“Ah see I was just distracting you so I could put on the ointment.” He chuckled and kept dabbing. “I think Isabeau is a beautiful name though. It’s different.”

She shifted a bit, big hazel eyes looking at him over her bare shoulder. His heart jumped up into his throat and he had to fight the urge to touch her cheek. Or worse skim the perfectness of her collar bones. Her lips were plump and pink and he idly found himself wondering how they tasted. _Maker’s breath maybe I am a lecher._

As if reading his mind, she smiled softly. “It was my great grandmother’s name I’m told. I’m just thankful I wasn’t born first or I could be Fergita or something.”

Alistair snickered. “Warden Fergita Cousland. I definitely think that would strike fear in the heart of our enemies.”

She hit him, knuckles bouncing with a ping off his chest plate. “Careful Alistair or I might mix deathroot in your portion of stew next time. Not enough to kill you of course but perhaps just to send you to the bushes for a while.”

“Maker!” he exclaimed through a choked laugh. “You are a dangerous woman, Miss Beau. But just the person we need leading this whatever it is I think.”

“Well I have an amazing partner.” Alistair grinned and she replied, “That mabari has been with me since I was a teenager.”

“You’re terrible and I don’t like you.” He pouted but could hardly contain his smile. _Maker, this woman…_

Giggling she let her body go lax, long legs stretching out to dip into the water. “You like me, and I like you too.”

 _Well_ Alistair thought, he couldn’t argue with that one bit.


	2. Cullen/Inquisitor Lavellan - Troubled Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Shrine of Dumat brings thoughts of red to an uneasy Cullen.

[Cullen/Alowyn: Troubled Thoughts]

“Cullen? Are you alright?”

Cullen sighed and released the tight grip he had on his horse’s reins. In all honestly he wasn’t sure how he felt and it unnerved him. Samson’s message was gibbering nonsense but when he came to lyrium in general he always got an itch in the back of his mind. That tiny voice whispering how much stronger he’d be if he went back to taking it. How much better he could serve the Inquisition. How easier it would be to keep the Inquisitor safe. Lyrium was as much a crutch as it was divine for a Templar though no one ever told you that beforehand. For years he’d happily taken his filter and never questioned what came next. What happened when his service was over. What happened when he grew older and started to forget the ones he cared about…

With the introduction of red lyrium he’d had several ghastly nightmares of turning into one of those…things. They terrified him if he were being truthful; it appeared to be a rather slippery slope. Men he’d known for years were now deep within its grasp with no desire to escape. Good men, honorable men who’d taken pride in doing their duty now ravenous monsters trying their damndest to kill a very lovely young woman. And all because of the Mark on her hand; all because a mad creature told them it was the right thing to do.

Had this evil always been inside of them or _could_ the lyrium simply be blamed? And had this mess with the Breach happened ten years ago after Kinloch Hold, would he have been counted among their ranks? His torture at the hands of Mages and their demons had changed him, made him angrier than he’d ever been in his entire life. If Corypheus had offered him a way to never go through that torment again, would he have joined him? Would he have become red inside?

In his nightmares he was red. In his nightmares he was red and strong and unstoppable. He butchered Uldred into little pieces and cleansed the Circle of all taint left behind by the abominations. He crushed the Mage rebellion in Kirkwall by Meredith’s side and put a dagger into Samson’s belly for being weak. And while the rebellion was the ultimate cause of the Conclave, in his hellish dreams it happened either way except he stood proudly to help Corypheus be victorious instead of Samson. _He_ promised to rain doom upon the world and kill the upstart _Herald_ with a single blow.

Usually after that he would awaken in a cold sweat, sometimes with a scream still on his lips.

“I am…tired. The Shrine was not what I expected,” he said softly. “I thought we finally had Samson.”

Alowyn hummed. “Yes but we didn’t exactly leave empty handed. And I believe Dagna will be able to help us.” She arched a brow. “Something else is bothering you however. You know you can tell me anything, right? I’m willing to listen.”

Wetting his lips, he glanced to the rest of their party and was happy to see them quite far ahead. He wondered if they’d done that on purpose. Probably so; they were under the impression that just because he and the Inquisitor were in a relationship now they needed ample alone time. Not that he was complaining of course. Some of his favorite moments were Alowyn curled up in his office helping him with reports when there wasn’t a pressing matter for her to attend to.

He was always thankful for the time they spent together. That out of everyone, she’d chosen _him_ to be with. “I know but I don’t wish to worry you. You already have so much on your mind.”

She reached over and squeezed his hand; the green glow of the Mark shining even through her leather gloves. “This may come as a surprise to you Cullen, but I worry about you regardless. I love you and I want you safe. So letting me help with you with your problems would actually help _me_ in the long run.”

He chuckled lowly. “Interesting logic but I suppose there is truth to it. It’s just…the bad dreams as you called them the other day. Sometimes they involve red lyrium and they are never pleasant. I hurt people. I…”

Her expression gentled. “I know you’d never hurt me Cullen. I trust you implicitly not just to command my troops but to protect Skyhold if anything were to happen. And don’t think I didn’t notice you staying in front of me at the Shrine of Dumat; cutting down anything that attempted to come near me.”

That he had. “Just as I noticed your barriers.” She winked and he continued. “The nightmares make me uneasy. Honestly everything about what we’re going through makes me uneasy. I see the other Templars and I worry that could have been me. _I_ could have been Samson in another life.”

Alowyn touched his cheek and his eyelashes fluttered, his body leaning minutely towards her. “I do not believe that for a second,” she told him. “I don’t know this Samson but he seems to have a selfish interest in helping Corypheus. I don’t think you have a selfish bone in your body. You dedicate yourself to a cause because you believe in it, not because of what it might be able to do for you.”

Cullen was struck hard with the urge to kiss her, to wrap her in his arms and never left her go. How could someone like _her_ see so deeply into someone like _him_ and yet want more of him and not less? “Actually I could become quite selfish when it comes to you.”

Grinning, she motioned to the dense trees and thick bushes. “You can be selfish with me right now, Commander.”

He laughed, the weight on his shoulders lifting somewhat. “And give Bull, Dorian and Cole a show? Maker knows they probably know more about our private affairs than I’m comfortable with. Especially Cole.”

“Cole is just happy you’re happy.” She patted her large stripped elk on the head. “As for your nightmares, I’d be more than willing to spend more time watching you sleep if it helps. And don’t worry about what anyone might say. I think that cat is out of the bag.”

“They can be… horrifying. The nightmares.” He frowned. “I wouldn’t want to disturb you.”

“Elves don’t need as much sleep as humans,” she replied and he honestly didn’t know whether she was telling the truth or not. “Besides I’m the Inquisitor and what I say goes.”

 _Andraste preserve me—how do I love this woman so much already?_ “Well then, as you say Inquisitor."


	3. Alistair/Warden Cousland - Reprieve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isolde offers Isabeau and her companions solace for the night before embarking on the search for Andraste's ashes.

Alistair/Isabeau: Reprieve

“Please Warden I insist. You saved my Connor’s life. Stay tonight and start your search for the Urn tomorrow with a full belly and still mind.”

Isabeau didn’t like Isolde—mostly because of the way she’d behaved around Alistair—but lying about her son being possessed by a demon was a close second. However it was true that she and her companions were quite exhausted especially after trekking to the Circle of Magi, fighting abomination after abomination _and_ Blood Mage just to save everyone and seek help for poor Connor before returning to Redcliffe. It had been four days of rotting flesh and violence, of demons and screams that she still heard in her nightmares. No one had expected her and her friends to survive let alone destroy everything in their path and save Irving but they’d managed by the grace of the Maker, and recruited Wynn in the process. Now Connor was fine and another member of the treaty could be ticked off the list.

Isolde was beyond grateful to have her son back to normal and her attitude had cleared up immeasurably since their return. It probably would have been easier to let Jowan do some type of blood ritual with her life as payment but Isabeau wasn’t about to see another family be torn apart. Not if she could help it. Leaving Redcliffe to travel to the Circle had been a gamble but thankfully one that paid off in the end.

“Alright Lady Isolde I accept your offer,” Isabeau said wearily. “We’ll stay here tonight and leave bright and early tomorrow morning.”

Isolde smiled. “Wonderful. I will have a servant make up rooms for all of you. Things…may not be one hundred because of what happened but with the skeletons gone everyone should be able to clean up and get back to normal. Slowly.”

“There is no need to go to much trouble. We simply need warm beds and food,” Isabeau replied. “At this point anything will be better than sleeping on a hard bedroll and eating Alistair’s _mystery stew_.”

Giving a soft smile, Isolde wrangled the first servant that passed her and started giving out orders. Half an hour later everyone was assigned to a guest room for the night and basically left to their own devices, having free reign of the castle. The mood was still very much somber and skittish but people were much more resilient than they gave themselves credit for. Eventually they would be okay it would just take time.

Unfortunately that was in short supply these days.

With the Blight breathing down their necks and other oddities popping up seemingly out of nowhere, they was no time to get your head on straight. No time to mourn those you’d lost. The only reason she wasn’t curled up in a ball for her dead family was because it _wasn’t allowed_. She couldn’t very well save all of Thedas comatose.

Sighing, Isabeau went about the task of removing some of her armor and placing it on the table by the door in her room. Her weapons were propped up against the wall with her pack; everything within easy access just in case she needed it. It almost felt strange to be staying _inside_ for a change. To be surrounded by thick walls and the smell of sweet meats wafting up from the kitchen. A slice of her old life dangled before her eyes and she didn’t know how to handle it.

“What happens after this is over?” she asked aloud. “Do I just…return to Highever? Can I even return? Providing I don’t die horribly between now and then. I suppose it still needs a Teryna…”

Quicksilver—her mabari—whined from his place in front of the fireplace and she smiled, going over to pat him on the head. “It’s okay, boy. We’ll figure it all out. Besides we still have the dwarves and the elves to contend with and I am not looking forward to either. But _especially_ nothing dealing with being underground. What if a mountain falls on us?”

Quicksilver yipped and head butted her knee, his stump of a tail wagging happily. She chuckled and pulled the pin out of her black hair, shaking it down before running her fingers through it. Not sure how to spend her first free evening in what seemed like forever, she opened her balcony doors and made her way outside. From this high up she could see out across the lake and into the village where people were steadily trying to rebuilt. The blacksmith’s daughter had returned home safely and now he was focusing on mending houses instead of providing weapons. And there in the center of Redcliffe was a roaring pyre where the remains of the shambling skeletons were being disposed of.

It was just as well to get rid of them swiftly so that they didn’t spread any type of disease.

“Knock knock? Are you decent? Hm. I suppose I should have asked that before opening the door.”

“Heh it’s fine.” She arched a brow as Alistair crossed the room and outside to stand beside her. “I’m as decent as I can be these days.”

He hummed. “I know what you mean. I suppose we are fortunate to make camp near ponds and what have you. A cold bath is still a bath.”

She nodded. “Quite true. But at least for tonight we could have a hot one, _and_ with scented soaps.”

Leaning against the thick stone railing, he grinned. “I wouldn’t usually make use of scented soaps but I need something to wash the _abomination_ off of me. Maker’s breath…I can’t believe the Circle turned into _that_. I would never have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. And those poor Mages; the ones like Wynne who didn’t want anything to do with Uldred’s sick plan… Oh and not to mention the Templars. I feel bad for that Cullen fella. _He’ll_ never be the same.”

Isabeau didn’t think she would be either. “You know when I was a child I wanted to be a Mage. We had one on loan I guess you could say, for healing or whatever. I would sneak away from my studies to watch him cast spells and it always looked so pretty. I didn’t know yet about being taken from your family and never seeing them again.”

“I can kind of see the appeal though magic isn’t usually something one wishes for. Had my life or my parentage turned out differently I doubt I would have wanted to join the Order,” Alistair revealed softly. “Templar or otherwise. But I make a better Warden than I ever did Templar so I guess it all worked out. After all I could have been at Kinloch Hold…”

“Me too had I been born a Mage,” she said sympathetically. “Perhaps we would have met and—and saved each other. Hidden away like Wynne and the others until some other strapping Warden rescued us.”

“Maybe. I definitely would have felt the need to help you. Did you just call yourself strapping?”

“I’m allowed. The treaties say so.”

Alistair laughed and Isabeau found herself—not for the first time—simply watching him. He’d been through a fair bit in his young life and yet he could still find humor in impossible situations. It was one of the things she really liked him about. Others would accuse him of being childish but she saw it for what it was. Sometimes when things got heavy you needed a release, and his was jokes. They didn’t always land but she appreciated them just like she appreciated the rest of him. And, well, it didn’t hurt that he was extremely handsome.

When she’d first been drafted into being a Warden she hadn’t expected to live past the battle at Ostagar. Yet here she was leading her own group and bringing armies together the best she could. It wasn’t clear whether her other companions had much faith in her but she knew Alistair did, because he didn’t try to hide it. He respected her and her decisions even if he didn’t agree with them. He was exactly what she needed in this crazy thing she was trying to do.

“Do you feel naked?” she asked curiously.

“Beg your pardon?” He blinked at her but he was smiling. “Is…that a rhetorical question of some kind?”

She snorted. “I meant because you’re not in all of your armor. I’ve gotten so used to the chest plate and heavy sides that I feel sort of like I could tilt over right now. I never really wore armor of this make back when I would at home.”

His eyes swept over her, his cheeks going pink as he realized what he’d done. “I—well I think you look great. I mean no I—I don’t feel naked at all. But I have been fighting darkspawn longer than you and good armor is sometimes the difference between life and death.” Wetting his lips he continued. “As is a good weapon. I’ve never thanked you for letting me use your family sword. Or going through the trouble to get Sandal to enchant it.”

Isabeau sighed a little sadly. “Sandal loves enchanting so that was no bother. And as for the other part well, it’s a good sword and it should be used in this fight. I think my father would have approved of someone like you wielding it. You’re an amazing warrior and you’ve saved my life more than once. I’m proud to have you carry something of House Cousland.”

Obviously touched, Alistair moved to stand closer beside her. Their arms brushed briefly and although she couldn’t feel him through the material of her clothes, goosebumps still broke out across her skin. Her stomach fluttered rather pleasantly and she bit her bottom lip. It had been ages since she’d remembered having a crush on someone; the young stable hand with eyes so blue she was sure they were somehow mixed with the sky itself.

She’d been fourteen.

Alistair cleared his throat. “If—you haven’t said much about your family since we met. If you wanted to talk about them I’d be glad to listen. After all you’ve listened to me prattle on more than once and never judged me might I add.”

Isabeau tugged at a few strands of her long hair, twisting it around her fingers like she used to do when she was a child. “My father called me Pup because I’m the youngest. He was—he was a good man. When I first told him I wanted to study archery instead of elocution he stared at me for a moment and then the next day bought me my first bow. My mother wasn’t pleased but she never told me to stop any of my training. Well not as long as I also made time for tea with her boring friends or whatever.” The memories made her smile a little but also caused her pain, yet she wanted him to know about her past. “Fergus the best big brother. Oh he’d tease me and be generally annoying but he was also first in my corner. And then he married Oriana and suddenly I had a sister in law…who had no qualms about teaching me poisons. _That_ drove my mother crazy.”

Sniggering, he rubbed the back of his neck. “I can’t imagine why. A beautiful young woman who could poison every suitor that came her way? Nothing wrong with that.”

She punched him in his strong shoulder. “I never used my powers for evil I’ll have you know. It was just fun to experiment. I never thought I’d have a practical need of it but here we are. After Oren got old enough to walk we had to practice in the tower—he couldn’t handle steps yet. He was my nephew. I was supposed to be protecting him…”

“Beau I want you to know, no matter what happens Howe will be brought to justice for what he did to your family,” he replied staring straight ahead, jaw clenched tight. “I promise you this.”

“Why thank you you’re Highness.”

“Heh right. Oh hey buddy.” Turning he scratched Quicksilver between his perky ears. “You really took a bite out of that blood Mage didn’t you? Who’s a good shredding machine? You are.”

Quicksilver’s tongue lolled out of his mouth and he bounced around cheerfully.

“Um Alistair?”

“Yeeees?”

 _Maker!_ “About…in the Fade. Is that something you want one day? Not the Goldana part but to settle down and be surrounded by family?”

Alistair folded his arms across his chest. “I suppose, yes. I’ve never really had a place where I belong as you know. I think it would be nice—after all of this is over—to happily retire. I don’t know how realistic that idea is though. We defeat the Archdemon and the horde but there will be the leftover darkspawn to deal with, the ones that don’t return underground. It’s the Wardens’ job to kill those they can.”

“You could always…come back to Highever with me.” She felt her face heat up as he looked at her. “I mean if—if you don’t have any other pressing engagements. I plan to return no matter what and hopefully get the place in order. If I can’t be Teryna then I hope to find someone I trust to govern things.”

Expression softening, he reached out and took her hand. “I’d like that.” His fingers brushed across her knuckles. “You—the rose I gave you—is—I saw it. Unless you found another rose in which case never mind.”

Isabeau squeezed his hand. “Of course I kept it. I had Morrigan put an enchantment on it so that it’s preserved. She rolled her eyes the entire time but she did it. I thought it deserved more than simply turning brown between the pages of a book or what have you. It should stay as lovely as its sentiment.”

Alistair shook his head but he was obviously happy. “Why are you so amazing? _How_ are you so amazing?”

She caressed his cheek, smoothing her thumb over a tiny cut that had already started to heal. There were things she wanted to say to him, things that had been steadily bubbling up over their time together but she also didn’t want to rush. Didn’t want to leap ahead just in case he didn’t feel the same way, though she figured that probably wasn’t possible. If the tender gaze he was giving her was any indication he was perhaps falling just as quickly as she was.

“Alistair—”

“Warden there is—oh!” Isolde stopped short, her eyes round at the sight of them in a more than friend situation She stood in the open doorway with a hand to her chest. “I was…the kitchen has made food for you and your friends. It is ready right now.”

“Thank you my lady,” Alistair told her. “Why don’t I go get us the good stuff before Leliana eats it all?” He lingered for a moment and then headed for the doorway, swerving around Isolde without another word.

For her part Isolde merely bowed and left but Isabeau wouldn’t be surprised if there was gossip later.

Unbothered, Isabeau leaned onto the railing and snickered to herself. She really hoped he brought back cheese.


End file.
